North Country(81)

My blood rushes, watching her. God, she is beautiful, even when she’s raging. I want her in the worst way .

Will these feelings for her ever fade?

“Annie took Isla outside to wait in our truck,” my father offers, breaking their silent standoff.

“Perfect. We’re done here.” Emery charges out through the rink door.

“Guess the game’s over for us, eh?” My dad tucks his hands into his pockets with a shudder. “Time to go home.”

“I’m fine with that.” Because that’s where Emery will be.





I step back and admire the tack room wall that I spent two hours reorganizing. “I can’t believe they let it get like that.”

Copper and Biscuit neigh in unison as if answering. The third horse, a sable-colored quarter horse named Flapjack, ignores me. He’s a quiet one.

It wasn’t my plan to tidy up when I wandered into the barn after returning from Isla’s game. I was just looking to keep busy before I did something stupid—like walk across the field and land on Emery’s front porch.

Two of the saddle racks were loose, so I found the drill in the toolbox and re-hung them securely. Then I realigned the bridle hooks because whoever reset them at some point put them too close together. From there I spent almost an hour sorting the various buckets of brushes and polishes that had been thrown in together and spraying down the tools with a disinfectant that I spilled all over my clothes while mixing.

“Logan? You in here?”

My pulse spikes at her voice. “In the tack room.”

Slow, even footfalls approach and then Emery’s there, bundled in a black winter coat, a metal cup in her hand. Duke trails nearby, sniffing the ground. “It’s not bad enough that my daughter is punching out players, but then I walk over to check on the parolee and he’s not where he’s supposed to be.”

“I’m allowed anywhere on the property.”

Her smile is soft, the fury from the rink earlier nowhere in sight. “I know. I’m only teasing. ”

“Coffee?” I nod toward her cup.

“Pinot noir. It’s that kind of night.” She holds it out. “Want some?”

“Hell no. This one time, a few inmates had this brilliant idea to horde grapes from mealtime and ferment them in their cell toilets to make wine.”

Emery’s face twists with horror. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. A bunch of them ended up in the infirmary, puking and shitting all over the place. I don’t think I’ll ever see red wine again without thinking about that story.”

“Yeah, me neither now,” she mumbles, setting her drink down on a nearby table. Her eyes flitter over the room. “What are you up to in here?”

“Straightening things out. The place is a mess. No one puts anything where it’s supposed to go anymore.”

“Yeah, there are a lot of kids coming in and out of here, all the time.”

“I remember being a kid in this family and that was never an excuse.”

“Holt’s softer with his grandkids than he was with you boys. I think he’s just happy they’re around.” She adjusts a harness, shifting the way it hangs, before leaning against the old barn wall. “And think, soon there will be seven of them.”

I shake my head. “Sarah’s going to lose her mind.”

“Jon’s gonna lose his head if he doesn’t spend less time playing with drones and taking bets on the spring bison, and more on helping her. I mean, I have one and some days I feel overwhelmed.”

I imagine today is one of those days. “How’s Isla doing?”

“Two-game suspension but she doesn’t care much about that. All she can think about is what Erin said. What everyone’s saying.” Emery bites her bottom lip. “She asked me if I thought Holly was dead.”

“That was bound to happen.” I hesitate. “Did you tell her the truth?”

“That the odds of finding her alive are against us? Yes,” she admits quietly.

“This isn’t on you.” Despite what her douchebag ex says. “You’re doing everything you can to find her.”

“What is ‘everything’?” She tosses her arms to her sides, a helpless gesture. “Everything would be finding her. Anything short of that is failure. I’ve gone over the case reports a thousand times, looking for a gap or a lie and I can’t find one. But it has to be there. It has to be right there in front of me. I’m missing it.”

Emery’s going to drive herself crazy.

“Hey, do you remember that barn cat? The one that disappeared?”

Her brow flickers with recognition. “You mean Socks?”

I smile. “I forgot his name, but yeah.” It was all black except for its white feet. Emery named him. “Do you remember that morning we came out here? You noticed him gone right away.”

“Because he always came to say hello. He was the friendliest cat I’ve ever met.”

“So you freaked out and launched an investigation. You had Sarah and I canvassing the fields, the barn, the house, everywhere. You had a clipboard and everything.” I chuckle, remembering a ten-year-old Emery with her ripped jean shorts, pigtails, and dirt-stained sneakers. “And then my dad rolled in just before dinner and who jumps out of the truck but Socks.”